


With a Faery, Hand in Hand

by MyrsineMezzo



Series: Hearts Like Ours [1]
Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrsineMezzo/pseuds/MyrsineMezzo
Summary: In which The Ghost pines over Taryn at a Fae revel. My excuse to write my favorite Folk of the Air character dancing, getting advice on love from his fellows in the Court of Shadows, and quite a bit more. Spoilers for Queen of Nothing.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar, Taryn Duarte/The Ghost, The Bomb/The Roach (The Folk of the Air)
Series: Hearts Like Ours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695043
Comments: 19
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place one year after the events in Queen of Nothing. I'm so excited to write The Ghost/Taryn. They were my long-shot ship :D I'll probably be writing a second chapter from Taryn's POV.

“Come away, O human child!  
To the waters and the wild  
With a faery, hand in hand,  
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."  
\- William Butler Yeats

Stars twinkled in a summer sky, looking down on a faerie glade packed to bursting with all manner of creatures surrounding an enormous bonfire whose flames licked the air. The Midsummer Night revels had arrived, and the courts gathered to mark the triumph of the sun over the darkness. Couples danced and snuck off together to lie in shadowy bowers in celebration of ancient customs meant to bring fertility to the land and to its people. 

Meanwhile, The Ghost was trying to push any thoughts of fertility rites straight out of his head. But it was a losing battle. Because every time he scanned the glade from his vantage point in the shadows, his eyes snagged on the face and form of Taryn Duarte, the High Queen's twin sister and the woman who haunted his thoughts and his dreams.

Where once he lived in careful obscurity, everyone now knew The Ghost as one of the feared and admired assassins in the Court of Shadows. Those in Faerie who knew him as someone else--who knew his true name of Larkin Gorm Garrett--were the High King Cardan Greenbriar and the High Queen Jude Duarte. And, more importantly, the woman he currently found himself staring at whether he willed it or no.

To him, Taryn was always beautiful, but tonight she was even more so than usual. She wore an almost-diaphanous gown made of layers of burnished, rust-colored silk belted with gold. Twisting, thorny vines worked in gold thread stretched along the collar and hem of the dress. Contrasting this ornate decoration, her neck and ears were bare of all adornments but for an amber pendant suspended on a slim golden chain resting just above the swell of her breasts. Her chestnut hair glowed, reflecting the flames of the bonfire in its deep auburn highlights. As The Ghost continued to watch her, he found himself wanting to run his fingers through those locks...To trace the length of the chain around her neck, following its path ever downwards until he brushed against her lush softness.

A popping sound came from the bonfire as a log split in the heat. Jolted out of his reverie, The Ghost gave himself a mental shake and looked around to take stock of the rest of the revel's occupants. He was supposed to be trading off guard duties with his fellow Court of Shadows members The Bomb and The Roach at any minute. The trio usually kept an eye on things, but an extra thread of tension wove through this celebration and other court events since the recent uprising from the Court of Moths a week earlier. 

Most of the kingdom's Folk trusted in the High King and the High Queen, and felt the rebellion would be put down in due time. Those who thought to use the upheaval to advance their own plots and schemes were well-known to the Court of Shadows, and they were prepared to take action against any who threatened the Crown. The Ghost's eyes shifted to the raised dais where the royal couple themselves sat. 

Cardan couldn't be said to be seated so much as he was lounging upon a throne made of what looked like gold and ivory. Jude held herself much more erect as she sat beside him on her own throne, although she looked like she would much rather be waging a war or plotting some kind of subtle strike against the Court of Moths. As if he sensed her disquiet, Cardan reached out and took her hand without taking his gaze from the merrymaking. When the two finally did make eye contact, The Ghost could easily see the affection and desire that burned between them.

The Ghost wished _he_ could be holding a particular hand and perhaps then kissing a particular mouth, a particular throat, all the way down a particular body. He sighed inwardly, shifting in the shadows. It did no good to think these things. The lady in question was far too good for the likes of an assassin who treasured his talent for killing and whose dreams were rarely troubled by the faces of those whose lives he had cut short.

He chanced one last look across the bonfire and saw Taryn dancing with a faerie knight named Malorion. The knight must have made some jest, for Taryn tilted her head back on her slender neck and laughed. The Ghost's hand tightened on his dagger in response. He wondered if he would ever feel free enough around her to make her laugh like that. Somehow he doubted it.

The pair finished their dance--a wild and rollicking reel--and Taryn drifted towards a banquet table filled with fruit and cheese and cakes. She took up a goblet of wine poured from bottles brought specially from the mortal world for herself and Jude. The Ghost had insisted on being the one to test it for poison since he had built up the immunity Jude was currently working to reclaim. It was unlikely that there was anything wrong with the wine since their elder sister Vivi had brought it, but he wasn't willing to take any chances with either of the Duarte sisters.

As he watched Taryn take a sip, he couldn't hold back the thought of wondering what she would taste like herself. Probably like starlight or the finest mead. If he could, he would drink his fill and more.

He tried once again to take hold of his thoughts. She wouldn't welcome them, and he didn't want to appear to be one of the men panting after her not only for her beauty but for a way to get closer to the Queen to try to assert influence over the kingdom. There were those who thought they could win themselves a higher position at court through the strategy of manipulating the young widow. And those suitors refused to be dissuaded by the rumors that still followed Taryn--rumors that claimed she had something to do with her husband Locke's death. 

Locke. The manipulative little bastard who had known his true name and had made The Ghost regret the attack of conscience that had made him ever want to reveal it to him.

He wondered if it bothered Taryn to live in that large manor she had once shared with the husband she had probably murdered. He imagined that soon it would ring less with the sounds of drunken revelry and lonely tears as it had when he was alive than with the sounds of laughter from her young daughter Evania and whatever man or woman Taryn chose to spend her days and nights with.

Gods, he wished it was him. 

He sensed a presence behind him, and his hand fell to his dagger once more.

"Just us," a voice said from deeper within the shadows.

The Ghost's hand released its grip on the weapon. "No need to sneak up on me, although it was well done."

The Roach gave a small laugh. "We didn't want to interrupt your pining. It looked very romantic. Very tortured."

The Ghost felt himself scowl. "I was not pining." 

His comrade went on as if he hadn't said anything. "You should tell her how you feel right now without delay. Tell her she hangs the stars and commands the tides of your heart. The ladies love declarations like that." 

The Ghost heard an indelicate snort and looked up into the branches of the tree above him where The Bomb crouched. "Says the man who didn't tell me his feelings until he lay on his deathbed? It's a different tune you're singing now after you made me wait for you for years and years." She turned back to The Ghost. "If you want my advice, wait until she feels more comfortable with you. She's hiding her heart at the moment, if that dress is any indication."

The Ghost regarded the golden thorns covering Taryn's gown. "Perhaps," he said. "But if she wants to hold herself apart, then why is she dancing with Malorion?" It was hard to keep the frustration out of his voice.

The Bomb laughed. "Because she has eyes and Malorion is dead handsome. But you have better qualities and better talents. You just need an opportunity to show them to her." She dropped from her tree branch without a sound. "And now it's our turn to take over watching the festivities. Go say hello, at least, but leave the mask off.

The Ghost nodded and removed the enchanted mask Jude had given him and the other Court of Shadows members. Trying not to break into a cold sweat at the idea of interacting with Taryn, he raised a hand in farewell to his fellow spies and assassins. The Bomb made a shooing motion as if she would shove him in Taryn's direction.

Circling the bonfire, The Ghost made his way to a table groaning with wine casks. The High King did love his parties to be well-stocked, he thought. He poured himself a goblet of a rich, dark vintage to give him something to do with his hands. Then, gathering his courage, he made his way towards Taryn who stood watching the dancing at the edges of a circle of Folk. You're a feared killer, he thought. You can talk to a woman for five minutes without acting like a fool.

Taryn looked up at him as he approached. The Ghost sketched a short bow. "Good evening, lady. How are you enjoying the revels?"

She smiled at him, but he could sense a wariness in her gaze. "I'm enjoying them very much. I haven't been to a court event in quite some time."

He cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say to put her at ease. "How is your daughter?" This question must have pleased her because she relaxed infinitesimally, and a warm glow lit her eyes.

"Evania is well. She's being watched by my old nurse, Tatterfell." 

"And how old is she now?"

"A year. Can you believe it's been so long since the war with Madoc ended? It feels like a lifetime ago."

"It seems like just the blink of an eye to me," The Ghost admitted.

"Well, you are much older than I am," she said. But a hint of humor laced its way through her voice. "You must have seen empires rise and fall and cities crumble to dust."

"I'm not _that_ much older than you," he grumbled. She laughed, and the sound washed over him like chimes ringing in the air.

"Do you know what I would like?" she asked.

"What would you like?" he asked. "You have but to command me, and I will do whatever you ask."

Taryn paused as if weighing what she wanted to say. "Then I would like to ask for a dance."

The Ghost swallowed before he could stop himself. "A dance?"

"Yes. A dance. I find myself in need of a partner."

With only the barest hesitation and without a word, he took her goblet and set it alongside his own on a table behind them. Then he took her arm in his and led her towards the group of dancers readying themselves in rows of partners.

The slow, lilting sound of a single violin began to sing its melancholy song. As the notes threaded through the air and up to the sky, The Ghost held his hand up, palm facing out. Taryn met his palm with hers, and the mere press of her hand against his sent something like an electric shock through his body. They moved in the motions of the court dance, their faces turned towards each other. He wanted to capture every flicker of shadow and light across her face and, for a moment, he wished he was an artist or a poet like Val Moren. His artistry lay elsewhere, though. In blood and poison and death. 

"You're a good dancer," Taryn said after a few minutes of silence as they learned to trust each other's rhythm.

"Thank you. It's not something I find much call for, but it's not so different from the way I practice swordplay. It's all about being sure with your feet."

"That sounds very fearsome, sir," she said with a small smile.

"Never to you, I hope. As I said, I am yours to command."

She paused at that, reading into his words the tension that sat in the back of every interaction between them. "Does it bother you? That I know your true name? That I could command you to do anything?"

The Ghost kept his silence. When he finally spoke, he said, "I would rather have you know it than any other. As for anyone else who knows my name, like the High King and your sister, I must put my trust in them. And I must believe that Madoc will continue to serve his exile in the mortal realm." His smile was bitter. "Otherwise, I am lost."

He remembered his time in Locke's hands--in Madoc's hands as he screamed his frustration and begged Jude for his death--and thought of his vow to never again be used in that way. 

"At least Locke won't be returning to cause any trouble for you ever again."

The Ghost raised his eyebrows. The sharp edge in her voice was as close to a confession to his murder as she was ever likely to make to him. After that, they danced in silence. Far too soon, the song began to wind down as the violin's sweet notes faded into the distance. 

They lowered their arms, but on impulse, The Ghost held fast to Taryn's hand. He bent low and kissed it, his lips soft and gentle against her skin. When he looked up, he could see that a blush stained her cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat of the bonfire. There, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction. I can be just as dashing as Malorion.

Feeling the need to give her some space as The Bomb had suggested rather than forcing his attentions on her, The Ghost turned to go. "Thank you, lady," he said to her before he left.

"My pleasure, Ghost," she replied softly before moving to stand in the farthest circle of the revelers under the shadows of the trees that lined the glade as if to hide from anyone who might see her face. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized their dancing had caught Jude's attention. He groaned inwardly when she gestured for him to approach the throne. 

When The Ghost arrived before her, Cardan merely looked up as if he was bored then turned his attention back to the dancing after murmuring, "He's all yours, wife. Be gentle."

Jude gave The Ghost an appraising look, and he wondered if this was the moment when the High Queen would tell him to keep his grubby, murderous hands off of her sister. He looked away, but she surprised him instead.

"I want you to guard Taryn," she said.

His head jerked up at that. "Guard her? From what?" If she needed guarding from anything, it was from him. 

Jude gave him a disbelieving look and said flatly, "The Court of Moths? Rebellion? Is this ringing a bell for you, Ghost? I don't want her to be used as leverage against me. The Bomb and The Roach are good, but I trust you to be more ruthless."

He nodded slowly. "I can be ruthless."

"Good. I don't want her to worry, so be subtle about it, but just...keep an eye on things. It should only be for a few weeks until we send our forces to the south."

"Of course, my queen." He swept a low bow.

"Thanks, Ghost."

He sensed her dismissal, but it didn't bother him. Against all odds, Jude made a good queen. It was easy to be loyal to her, especially when he wasn't being commanded to try to kill her or her husband. 

When he turned to look for her, he saw that Taryn was gone. The Ghost cursed to himself. Some guard he was turning out to be. It had only been ten seconds and he had already lost sight of his charge. Perhaps she had disappeared into the foliage to meet with a lover. His mouth tightened at that. He hated thinking of her with her back pressed up against a tree, offering her soft mouth and breasts to someone like Malorion.

But what if she hadn't gone inside the forest with the knight, and now she was vulnerable to attack? His blood began to surge, but he pushed the feeling down and replaced it with the deadly calm he needed and had honed for more than a hundred years. It was probably nothing, but he intended to find out for sure.

He entered the dense trees, using his nimble feet to move as silently as he could. Scanning his eyes along the ground to look for tracks, his gaze caught on the gleam of a golden thread snagged in the underbrush. He went very still, and he could suddenly hear the sounds of a scuffle coming from somewhere up ahead. The Ghost glided forward, glad that he had chosen to wear black since he must have appeared to be only a shadow moving through the trees.

Up ahead, he entered a clearing and the scene at its center brought him up short. Taryn stood outlined in moonlight standing in front of a saddled white horse. The horse's master appeared to be a goblin woman dressed in armor who held a knife out in front of her. That knife was aimed directly at Taryn's throat. 

"Get on the horse," the goblin demanded. "Or I will put out those pretty eyes.” She waved her knife at Taryn's face as if to demonstrate what she threatened to do.

"No," Taryn ground out. The Ghost could guess that Taryn's captor was probably thinking of bashing her over the head with the knife hilt and throwing her over the horse's back. The goblin's arm raised as if to strike and Taryn flinched. The Ghost plowed forward, stepping on a branch in his haste to get to Taryn's side. It gave a sharp snap, and the goblin jerked her head around, hissing her displeasure at the interruption. 

The Ghost unsheathed his own dagger and lunged, feinting towards the woman's left side. When she raised her armored arm to deflect the blow, he struck out and knocked her knife arm wide before landing a punch into the goblin's face. The sound of cracking bone met his ears, and she staggered back, blood streaming from her nostrils.

"You're dead," the goblin spat as she dropped the dagger to the ground in favor of drawing a sword from the scabbard at her hip. The Ghost danced backwards out of the way of the longer weapon's reach. She swung the sword in a blow that would have taken the head off most opponents, but he ducked at the last moment and it arced above him. 

The joy of violence sang through him as he spun his body out of the way of the goblin's next thrust and tried to work his way to a better vantage point to strike with his dagger. He was about to draw them both forward, away from Taryn, when the goblin gave an almighty shriek. The steel of a blade flashed in the moonlight and blood gushed from a wound between her neck and shoulder. 

The Ghost saw Taryn falling backwards against the side of the horse. The goblin whirled unsteadily towards her. "Bitch," the goblin snarled. "I don't care that they want you alive." Her arm drew back to thrust her sword straight through Taryn's stomach. Everything slowed as he saw Taryn's eyes widen in fear, and his own arm drew back, weighing the dagger and letting it fly in one smooth motion.

It stuck through the back of the goblin's head with a wet thunk, and then both the weapon and Taryn's attacker fell forward into the bracken of the forest floor. Taryn stared down at the dead body, but she didn't let out cry. She just raised her head and met The Ghost's eyes with her own. Then she opened her mouth, but no sound came out except for a strangled croak. He hurried to her side, drawing her away from the corpse. 

"Hurry," he said. "Climb up onto the horse." 

She nodded, and he gave her a leg up so that she settled astride the mare's back. The Ghost leaped up onto the saddle behind her. He took the reins in his hands and turned the horse towards the site of the revel. They rode in silence, and his thoughts were whirling just as much as hers must have been. Now that the clarity of battle was behind him, he had to consider the who's and why's of what had just happened. It seemed obvious that it must have been a knight or a mercenary sent from the Court of Moths to bring Taryn to them. Jude had been right to worry about someone stealing her twin away.

The glow of the bonfire soon appeared through the trees, and many heads turned to look at them as they entered the large glade. He eased the horse through the crowd until they were next to the dais. Cardan and Jude were both standing now, concern and something far darker written on Jude's face at the sight of them.

The Ghost slid to the ground from atop the horse, then offered his hand to help Taryn down as well. She clung tightly to his hand, but let it go as he walked to the front of the dais. The Ghost bowed. "My King, my Queen...The Lady Taryn was attacked and almost taken by a goblin warrior, no doubt sent from the Court of Moths."

The bonfire light flickered over Jude's face as she took in his words. "You saved her."

The Ghost shook his head. "She practically saved herself. I was merely a good distraction. The Court of Shadows will scout the area for more soldiers, and I will keep watch over Lady Taryn for the rest of the night."

Jude nodded. Any relief she might have felt was rivaled by the anger in her voice. "Damn it," she swore. "This can't go unanswered. We'll send our forces tomorrow."

"Are we ready for that so soon?" Cardan asked idly from beside her.

"I have a plan," Jude said, her voice filled with grim determination.

"I have no doubt on that score," Cardan smirked. "Woe to them who thought they could best the mighty Jude in battle." He thought for a moment. "Or who thought they could best her in trickery, either."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or to tell you to shut up," she muttered, eyeing him.

Cardan wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, saying in a low voice, "Either would give me great joy, my fierce and lovely wife."

The Ghost cleared his throat and looked away. Before he did, he saw Cardan's tail wrap itself possessively around Jude's calf. "If that will be all...?" he asked a little desperately.

Jude and Cardan snapped out of their moment. "Yes, of course, Ghost. Thank you again for all you've done," Jude said.

"It was my duty and my pleasure, my Queen." With that, he hurried away from the dais towards Taryn. She stood off to the side, looking a little lost and unsure as to what to do next. He knew the feeling.

He drew her away from the small crowd that was gathering. Faeries loved gossip and feats of daring, but he had the sense that Taryn would rather not answer their many questions about how exactly she had escaped.

"Would you like to return to your home?" he asked her softly. She nodded, and they approached the white mare once more. Vaulting into the saddle behind her, he steered the beast towards the road that would lead to her estate. As the horse walked through the moonlit darkness, silence reigned between them.

He couldn't stop thinking about how he had almost lost her before he even had a chance to show her the talents and qualities The Bomb had told him he possessed. Well, he thought, I showed her one quality--that I have very good aim with a dagger. 

Somehow he didn't think that was the kind of thing The Bomb had in mind. 

As Taryn leaned back against his chest, he also couldn't help but think that this may be the closest he would ever come to holding her. The smell of her hair was sweet and rich like ripe figs and honey. He longed to pull the horse to a halt, to bury his nose in her hair and kiss his way down her neck. To slide his hands around her waist and pull her back harder against him. To ease her fears through his strength and his touch. 

The Ghost gave himself a mental shake. The roads seemed clear, but he refused to be caught unawares again. He realized Taryn was shaking a little, and he eased the horse into a trot, the sooner to get her back to her home and some feeling of safety. He cleared his throat. "I've been set to guard you, my lady. I will watch outside your house for the rest of the night, and will follow you wherever you wish to go on the morrow."

"Thank you," Taryn said, her voice low. She paused. "I've never seen violence so close up before." Her voice was weary and held a note of something like regret in it. "Jude could probably have killed them in ten seconds flat. If you hadn't been there, I would have been helpless."

"No," The Ghost said. "You would have found a way to escape. What you did was very brave. You could have been killed, but you struck them anyway."

"That was probably stupidity and dumb luck as much as it was bravery."

"Well, I was glad for it. Otherwise, I might have been split in half."

Taryn laughed. "I doubt that. You looked like you were made to fight and kill."

He thought of the pampered and preening husband she had chosen and couldn't help but compare himself to Locke. "Does that bother you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I find it very reassuring. And if I was brave, you were just as brave to have gone against an armored knight with nothing but a dagger."

"Or just as stupid and lucky," he said with a smile.

"Or that." She sounded much more relaxed now, and some of the tension seemed to have drained out of her body where it pressed against his. He was glad. He wished to take all her fear and turn it to laughter.

And to murder anyone who would ever be foolish enough to try to hurt her.

The estate loomed up before them as they crested a hill. The ride was over far too soon. It was for the best, though, he thought. Better to have her somewhere where he could easily stand guard while she slept. He scanned the trees around the house for a likely vantage point to watch anything that might seek to hide from view.

Reining the horse to a stop before the front door, The Ghost slid down and once more offered his hand to Taryn. She dismounted and stood looking up at him. He turned to go, but she put her hand on his arm to halt him. 

He went very still at her touch.

She reached up on her toes and kissed him gently on the cheek, letting her lips linger on his skin. The Ghost held his breath, not daring to move for fear of ending the moment. When she pulled back and settled herself on the ground, she searched his face for a long moment. Her gaze was still wary as it had been at the revel, although less so than it had been before. He had a feeling his own eyes blazed as if the bonfire from the glade was still reflected in them.

"Larkin," she murmured so quietly that only he could hear. His heart raced to hear his name on her lips, but he held up a hand, forestalling her words. What if she told him he had no hope with her? He was afraid to hear what she would say, so he took the coward's way out.

"I will see you tomorrow, Lady Taryn."

"Tomorrow," she agreed. But as she turned away, he could see that she was smiling. His heart leapt in anticipation. It practically did a cartwheel inside his chest. Who knew what tomorrow would bring now that the Court of Moths' first move had been made. But whatever it was, he could scarcely wait to find out as long as it meant that he would see her again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - the continuation of the story through Taryn's POV. Thanks so much for reading!

When Taryn awoke the next morning to Evania’s cries, she struggled to hold onto her dreams for one brief moment before getting up to dress herself and to care for her child. Her earlier dreams had been nightmares where goblins carried away all that she loved including her daughter. The remembrance that The Ghost was just outside the walls made her feel safe as she’d bolted upright in bed panting in horror and shot through with dread. She’d returned to sleep after that, but her dreams took a much more lascivious turn featuring the strong arms and warm mouth not of her dead husband Locke, but of Larkin Gorm Garrett.

Her cheeks burned when she remembered her dream self’s gasps and sighs as she lay beneath The Ghost, her body cushioned by the forest floor. He had moved over her, murmuring her name, and she had drawn him close to hold him in her arms.

Pushing the thoughts from her memory, she picked up Evania from her crib next to the bed and carried her to the small changing table. She laid her daughter down and dressed her in the new onesie Vivi had brought from the mortal world that read "My Aunt is Amazing."

Evania gurgled happily, and Taryn laughed as she tickled her daughter’s toes and brought her finger up for the child’s waving fists to grab. She had never loved anything as much as she loved this tiny girl. Taryn didn’t even care that she had her father’s russet hair and tawny eyes. The gentle rather than sharp points of her ears marked her as half faerie, but Taryn doubted that she would be mocked and taunted the way she and Jude had been as full humans. It helped that Evania was the niece of the High Queen. It still felt so strange to think that. And to think moreover that she and Jude were no longer at each other’s throats.

Almost all sign of Locke had been erased from the bedchamber--from his clothes and trinkets to a bed that was no longer curtained with embroidered foxes. Instead, gold and silver threads depicted abstract swirling patterns resembling a miniature galaxy with sparkling gems winking like stars on a field of dark blue fabric. It was beautiful, and she did love beautiful things, but it also reflected her inner turmoil. Nothing seemed simple as it once had when all she'd wanted was a handsome faerie lord to take an interest in her so that he would woo and wed her. Now, as a young widow and mother, she felt the weight of what could possibly take place in her future and the future of her family. 

Her nightmares of the previous night were nothing new. Taryn often dreamed of what she stood to lose, especially if Jude and Cardan were to somehow be dethroned. The current wartime atmosphere was no longer exciting as it had been when Madoc seemed likely to win during his struggle for the crown. Instead, it filled her with nervous energy and the realization that she had little recourse to defend herself and Evania on her own. It was slightly maddening to watch Jude thrive on violence when Taryn was not nearly so prepared for it. Madoc had trained her well, it was true, but it had been some time since she'd gone through any kind of rigorous defensive exercises let alone felt as if she could attack whatever came her way.

She had not been lying about being lucky when she had struck at the goblin attacker in the clearing the night before. That brought her full-circle back to The Ghost. He would defend them to the death, it was true, and there was comfort in that thought. But she wished she felt more self-sufficient. Perhaps she could convince him to help her sharpen her rusty skills with a sword later that afternoon.

Having set on a plan for the day, she picked up Evania in her arms and carried her daughter down the stairs towards the great hall where she would have breakfast. Nera and Neve stood at the foot of the staircase as they did every day, their shiny black beetle eyes staring up at her. Neve's voice slid through the air and sounded like two dry twigs rubbing together as she said coolly, "Good morning, my lady. Shall we take the child while you eat your breakfast?" Taryn shook her head, instinctively holding Evania closer. She preferred to have Tatterfell be the only other person to care for her daughter. She didn't quite trust Nera and Neve.

Her old nurse bustled from the direction of the kitchen. "Now then, how is my bundle of sweetmeats today?" she asked as she held her long fingers with their pointed nails out towards Evania. The little girl reached for one of them and squawked her excitement. Taryn placed her daughter carefully in Tatterfell's arms and said, "She slept longer than usual, thank goodness."

Tatterfell clucked. "You should have let me take her last night so you could rest after your ordeal."

The words made sense, but Taryn had needed to keep her precious girl close by for her own peace of mind. She smiled. "I slept well enough, too. I have much to do today, but I'll stop in to see her this afternoon."

The nurse nodded, and Taryn went to find her breakfast. For someone who felt so nervous about what the future might hold, she was extraordinarily hungry. Instead of sitting at the table and eating her usual toast and jam--jam made from regular fruit rather than the faerie fruit she used to eat to dull her senses--she gathered a few sweet apples along with some bread and cheese from the sideboard into a cloth napkin. A knife tucked into her belt would work to cut the items, and she made her way to the front door. On opening it, she looked around, but there was no sign of The Ghost. Taryn pushed down her brief stab of panic. It was a _good_ thing she didn't see him. If he was lurking close by unseen, then he was more likely to find anyone who might mean her and her family ill.

She stepped out into the cool morning air and waited in the middle of the courtyard as she scanned the trees surrounding the estate. A small squeak of surprise rose in her throat when she felt a hand touch her shoulder with no sound to warn her that someone had approached her from behind. Turning, she looked up into the face of The Ghost.

His hazel eyes were as serious as ever, and she wondered if she could make them glow with mirth and with other things if she only tried. She could read the signs, and he seemed to be attracted to her. Very attracted to her. Memories of her dreams rose unbidden to her mind, and she tried not to blush, although she had a feeling she wasn't succeeding very well.

His features weren't as sharp as a full-blooded faerie, and the points of his ears were less prominent. Idle speculation flew through her mind as she wondered whether it had been his mother or his father who was human. The way he looked at her reminded her of how they had danced together and of how warm his hand had felt in hers. She suppressed a shiver.

Pull yourself together, she thought desperately.

He scanned her face, taking in the glow of her cheeks, but he didn't remark on it. All he said was, "You should stay inside, lady. Otherwise, I'm happy to escort you wherever you'd like to go."

She held up the bundle she carried. "I just brought some breakfast if you'd like to share it with me."

He nodded and followed her lead as she walked to the center of the hedge maze that took up most of the estate's grounds. It was her favorite place to be outside, and she often sat on one of the stone benches with her embroidery at hand while Evania lay babbling to herself in a basket beside her. She sat there now, and The Ghost sat rather stiffly at her side.

She used the knife to cut off a piece of the bread and cheese to offer to him, and he took it along with an apple. Wanting to dispel the silence, she decided to indulge her curiosity about him. "If I may ask, what was it like for you growing up in Faerie?"

He bit into his apple and seemed to be using the time he spent chewing to think of an answer. He swallowed and said, "I wasn't born in Faerie, but in the mortal world as you were."

Taryn swallowed a bite of her own apple before pressing forward, "And your parents?"

"I try not to speak of them," he said quietly. Taryn fell silent, but to her surprise he continued. "My mother met a faerie man who she thought was a prince come to take her away to his kingdom where she would live as his queen." a furrow appeared between his brows. "He was no prince. She was foolish enough to continue to care for him even after it became apparent he had left her, but she was good to me because of it."

"Where is your father now?"

"Dead," The Ghost said, and a dark smile played on the edges of his lips.

Taryn had a feeling she didn't want to ask for any details about his father's demise. She changed course. "How did you get to Faerie, then?"

"Prince Dain found me at a point where I thought I would live and die amongst the mortals. He saw the skills I already possessed at theft and sleight of hand, so he brought me here and gave me a place in his court." Before she could ask any more questions of him, he said, "Your turn."

Taryn nodded, ready to answer his questions if she could.

"How was it growing up human here? There must have been many dangers for you."

Taryn shrugged. "We had Madoc and Oriana to look after us. It was...strange...growing up in the house of the man who murdered my parents, but he does care for us. And we came to care for him. Faerie is all I've ever really known. I might have missed a few things, but I'll never regret staying here. Especially now that we can visit Vivi whenever we like."

"The other Folk were respectful of you then?"

Taryn laughed long and loud. "No. They were mostly horrible thanks to Cardan, but look how that turned out. Having dirt kicked in my food and being threatened with drowning were memorable occasions, but nothing Jude couldn't handle." Her words came out a little more bitter than she meant them to.

"It sounds like it was difficult."

"No more difficult than to be half human and half faerie, I would imagine."

He was silent for a little too long at those words. Taryn felt her stomach twist, and she asked what was now weighing on her mind. "Tell me. How hard will it be for Evania? Being half faerie?"

"It will not be easy," he said, and it sounded if the words were dragged out of him against his will. Her heart sank as she thought of the bright and happy little girl she loved so much finding anything but an easy road through life. "But it will be different for her than it was for me," The Ghost assured her. "She is royalty, and few will scorn her outright."

"If they did, they would answer to me," Taryn said fiercely. "And worse...her aunts."

A smile flitted over The Ghost's face at her words. "I think you would be the most fearsome, lady. It's the quiet ones you must watch out for."

She smiled up at him at those words, and after a moment they returned to companionable silence as they finished their breakfast.

"What would you have of me now?" The Ghost asked, having brushed his hands off in front of him. "Did you want to go to the palace perhaps?"

"No," she said, drawing the word out. "What I really want is to get better with weapons. Can you show me how to do that? Jude said you were an excellent teacher."

He hesitated. "I suppose. If you truly wish to learn."

"I do. If I'd been more on my guard and prepared to fight, I might not have ended up in that clearing."

"Very well." He pointed to the knife that lay between them. "Take up that blade, and I'll show you."

"You don't want to use swords?" she asked, confused.

“Swords are for hacking and slashing. Front-facing and obvious battle. Honorable. Your strength may well lie with the dagger. It pairs well with distraction and the subtlety you already possess.”

Taryn arched an eyebrow. "So you're saying I'm naturally treacherous."

"I'm saying you will lure your enemies with what seems to be softness or weakness before you strike a killing blow." His smile was vicious as if the thought of her wreaking havoc pleased him.

"Well alright, then," she said, mollified. 

Easing his dagger from his belt, The Ghost stood and offered her his free hand. She took it, enjoying the rough feel of his fingertips, so different from Locke's soft hands that had rarely held a weapon or done anything resembling work. The Ghost led her to the open space beyond the bench, then he put his hands on her waist, and she drew in a breath. Without reacting to her involuntary sound, he turned her so that she faced away from him.

"The knife is different than the sword," he told her. The weight is different, the length is different, and how you approach your opponent must be different as well."

Taryn nodded her understanding. The Ghost began to teach, and he _was_ excellent at it. He pushed against her hips moving her forwards and backwards as he showed her how to move lightly on her feet despite the weight of her skirts. He put his hand on her arm and showed her how to thrust the blade and then to twist it to cause the most internal damage as possible.

When he pulled away from her, she felt the loss of his hands, but also felt exhilarated from this different kind of dance he had shared with her. "Thank you," she said. She could feel her eyes shining and that her cheeks were pink with exertion and delight in his closeness.

"You're not done yet," he warned her. "Lure me in then try to strike me."

"Wait," she said. She reached out as if to push a lock of his sandy hair back from his eyes and he froze. 

That was when she struck, slashing forward with the blade. 

He jerked backwards from her blow, as clumsy as she'd ever seen him. He parried her slashes with his dagger, but not before she heard him hiss and felt her knife drag across his arm. They both came to a sudden halt. The Ghost hadn't even flinched. Although their duel had ended, he didn't clutch his arm or cry out as most would have done. Instead, he just looked at the blood dripping slowly down his hand. "That was well done," he said without a hint of displeasure in his voice.

Taryn, on the other hand, was fiercely distraught despite his commendation. "Oh my god," she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! Come with me and I'll get you a bandage."

The Ghost shook his head. "It's nothing, lady. Only a scratch."

"Nonsense. I insist." She took his unbloodied hand in hers and led him from the maze towards the door. He didn't pull away after they left the maze, but kept ahold of her in a gentle grip as they walked to the front doors. She threw one of the doors open and drew him into the cool shadows of the entryway. The staircase loomed ahead of them.

"I have plenty of supplies upstairs just in case Jude ever comes staggering in bleeding everywhere like she does sometimes. You know how she is," she said.

The Ghost nodded and followed her up the stairs and to the landing where her room sat. On entering her bedroom, though, he began to look distinctly uncomfortable. If Taryn didn't know any better, she would have thought he was nervous.

Nere and Neve were nowhere to be soon. Thank goodness, Taryn thought. She didn't know what they would make of her bringing a man who wasn't Locke into her bedchamber. Let alone an assassin from the Court of Shadows. Tatterfell must have been watching Evania from the dim confines of the kitchen. The room was serenely quiet with just the two of them in it.

Taryn watched him, and she could see The Ghost's eyes roving over the writing desk, the cold fireplace, and the door to the dressing room. It seemed as if he was trying to look anywhere but at her large bed. One side of her mouth lifted in a smile. She sat on the divan that rested before the foot of that bed. "Here," she said, patting her hand against its soft pillows, inviting him to sit next to her. He sat awkwardly beside her. The blood had stopped dripping off his arm, but his hand was still stained red, and his cut would need to be tended to.

"Wait here and don't move," she told him once he'd settled himself on the divan. She stood and poured some water from a silver ewer on the dressing table into a matching basin. From a drawer, she drew out a small packet of supplies including needle and thread, bandages, and dried herbs for healing. She sprinkled the herbs into the water and returned to The Ghost's side.

She was about to ask him to remove his shirt so she could get to the cut, but when she turned to him, he had his sleeve pushed high on his arm. It really was a shallow cut now that she got a good look at it, nothing that would require stitches. She settled next to him and dipped a cloth into the basin before wringing the water out of it. Gently rubbing it against his arm, she began the task of washing the wound and cleaning the blood that had dripped down his hand. As she stroked his arm and held his hand to clean his fingers, she treasured the feeling of being so intimate with him. He smelled of cedar and light spices like incense, and she began to feel a warm ache building low in her stomach. She knew the signs of desire well, and when she looked up into his face, his hazel eyes were alight with the same feeling.

"Thank you, lady," he said quietly as she finished bandaging his arm. His voice was darker and a little deeper than it usually was, and it thrilled her to have this effect on him. He made to stand up, but she stopped him by putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Stay," she said.

He hesitated once more. "I should go."

"You should...but do you want to?" she asked.

He reached up and touched her cheek ever so gently. His voice was quiet. "No. I don't want to. If I could, I would never leave your side." 

His confession rocked her, but he continued. "I cannot be near you, though."

"Of course you can," Taryn exclaimed.

The Ghost shook his head. "You don't know the kinds of things that I've done. I'm a killer. A murderer. A thief and a spy. You deserve so much more than that."

She looked at him askance. "And what exactly do I deserve?"

He sighed. "You deserve someone who can promise they would never die an obscure death, never to be seen again." 

"And you don't think you can promise that?"

He looked frustrated and despairing all at the same time.

"No. My life will likely end far sooner than another faerie's would. That danger is a part of my profession. And more than that, you deserve someone who is kind and good."

"That may be so, but you seem kind and good to me."

He shook his head, and it looked like the words cost him as he replied, "You're wrong. You shouldn't even trust me to be around you. I have more blood on my hands than you can possibly imagine."

"I'm sure those you killed have good reason to be dead."

His eyes bored into hers. "It's innocent blood as well as guilty."

She was silent at that, not knowing what to say.

He pressed on. "I have been in this house before. I killed its mistress, Liriope, when my prince ordered me to silence her forever. I used poison, and it was a hard death. It was only by chance that I didn't kill her unborn child as well. What I did was monstrous, and that is not the only thing I have done in my long life." He looked down at his boots. "I am not worthy of your favor."

Taryn stood up and walked to the desk, her head reeling with his confession. She was shocked, it was true, but he wasn't the only one with violence on their conscience. "Ghost," she said quietly, but his gaze slid away from her as if he couldn't stand to see horror on her face. She took a deep breath and lifted the letter opener off of the desk. "Larkin Gorm Garrett," she said, and his head snapped towards her, his eyes bleak in the knowledge that she could command him to do anything. She showed him the thin blade. '"I murdered my husband with this. I slid it into his throat and watched him bleed to death at this desk right here." She cocked her head to see his reaction. His face was carefully blank. "And I'm still not sorry about it," she admitted. "Does that make me unworthy of _your_ favor?"

He was silent at that.

In response to that silence, Taryn walked back to his side, then she gently pulled him to his feet and led him towards the side of the bed. Pushing the bed curtains wide, she climbed up onto the mattress and turned to him, holding her hand out as if to beckon him forward.

He didn't move. She began to feel a little self-conscious at his lack of acceptance of her invitation, but all he said when he opened his mouth was, "I'm wearing boots." He looked embarrassed then. “I’ll get your sheets dirty.”

"That doesn't matter. Come here," she said, taking his hands and pulling him onto the bed beside her.

They lay down together, his body resting lightly on top of hers. It had been a long time since she had done this, and she was worried that she wouldn't be everything he wanted. When she looked into his eyes, though, she realized she had nothing to fear. His gaze was worshipful, and his touch reverent when he pushed her hair back from her face.

Bending his head down, he began to kiss his way down her neck and then across the tops of her breasts gently and methodically, as if he had thought about what he wanted to do many, many times. She shuddered under his hands and his mouth. He began to push her skirts up, tracing his fingers along her thigh, and she gave herself over to his touch. He took his time and it seemed as if he was as thorough and dedicated as when he searched to uncover sensitive information or tracked a target for his blade. That was how intent he was on discovering the secrets of her body and her pleasure, and she reveled in the sensations he provoked. She refused to be a passive recipient of his caresses, though, and she let her hands wander his body as well, finding the strength of him intoxicating, and making sure he knew it to be so.  
Afterwards, they lay disheveled and panting, holding each other close.

"Is there anything you're not good at, Larkin Gorm Garrett?" she asked him, a little bit marveling and a little bit mischievous.

His eyes glittered as he said "If I am good at anything, it's because I'm always willing to put in the time for practice. I'm very, _very_ willing indeed to put in the time for practice for this."

Taryn laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close for another kiss. The Ghost obliged her, kissing her gently and running his hands down her sides to her waist.

Then a knock sounded at the door and they both froze mid-motion. 

Tatterfell's voice came from the hallway. "Your sister sent a message. They've won the day over the Court of Moths."

Taryn cleared her throat. "That's wonderful!" She tried to sound as if absolutely nothing untoward was taking place and that it was certainly not taking place on her bed. "I'll be right there."

Tetterfell's voice sounded farther away as she called back, "Take your time." Taryn could barely hear her old nurse when she finished with the words, "I certainly would..."

Taryn blushed deeply, but when she turned to look at The Ghost, he was silently laughing.

"I'm losing my touch at going unobserved," he murmured.

Taryn laughed quietly. When they quieted and were looking at each other one last time, she gathered her courage to say, "Stay for dinner."

"Is that a command, my lady?" he asked, his voice low.

She thought about it for a moment. "It is."

"Then I must accept."

And with that, they stood and walked down the stairs hand in hand into an uncertain future, but a future filled with the possibility of love and friendship. The house would come to have new memories--not of sadness and death--but of laughter and happiness. And did their time together come to an end? Of course it did. But while it lasted, it was so blissful that those on the outside could only dream of finding what Taryn and her Ghost had found in each other's arms.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Comrades and Cranberry Sauce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415973) by [MyrsineMezzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrsineMezzo/pseuds/MyrsineMezzo)




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